


a poet could not but be gay

by Lauren (notalwaysweak)



Category: L.A. By Night (Web Series), Vampire: The Masquerade
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Biting, Blood Drinking, M/M, PWP, blush of life, face-slapping, mild depictions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 23:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19366024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren
Summary: Greg discovers that his safe house has been compromised, but his unexpected visitor more than makes up for scaring him.





	a poet could not but be gay

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to flash back to the 90s here and disclaim the shit out of this, mostly that I don't own the characters, game plot, Wordsworth, or the city of Los Angeles, but also, like... look, I know there are showrunners reading my stuff. Y'all are grown-arse adults, make your own life choices, just try not to make fun of this on anyone's livestream, please?
> 
> Also I neither know nor care whether the sexual activities depicted herein would work under the rules of _Vampire: the Masquerade_ ; if you're here for strict rules adherence you are totally in the wrong place. If you're here for ghoul/vampire shenanigans, read on.
> 
> (Also also yes I know that the Italian is terrible; it's purely for the rhyme okay, I apologise for that and nothing else.)
> 
> Thank you afullmargin for the beta!
> 
> * * *

Greg’s exhausted and thinking of nothing but sleep as he lets himself into the apartment he’s come to think of as a safe house, if only because nobody’s found it and staked him or whatever the fuck it is they do to the people like him who live in between daylight and darkness.

A cool hand comes out of the darkness and closes around his wrist, and Greg yelps.

“Hello, Daffodil,” X says.

Greg tries to pull away and fails, snarling, “Who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing here? Did she send you?” He kicks the door shut behind himself so that the neighbors don’t call the police. He only vaguely knows  _of_ this guy, and if he’s here Nelli probably sent him, and if Nelli sent someone... he doesn’t know what that signifies.

X’s other hand caresses his cheek. As Greg’s eyes adjust to the darkness, he can see the vampire better, a person resolving out of the shadows. Pale skin. Dark curly hair. Clothes that have seen a lot of wear and tear, although at least he doesn’t smell unwashed. In fact, he smells like sea salt and sage and smoke, as though he’s just come from a moonlit drum circle on the beach. His eyes are an unearthly silver that picks up the glow of the street lights outside.

“ _She_ didn’t send me. No  _shes_ send me anywhere now.” He glowers at Greg. “No baronesses, no princesses.” The glare turns swiftly to a mischievous smile. “There was a little bird, a little bell, a little Belle, who told me that Nelli was growing a garden. And here you are, the prettiest flower of them all.” He lifts Greg’s hand to his lips and brushes the lightest kiss across the back as well. His lips, too, are cool. “The watcher devoted to Demeter. Do you fear the harvest? Or are you too beautiful to be torn untimely from the earth?”

Greg wets his lips. “No. I’m not afraid. I believe I’m protected.”

X’s smile turns coquettish with a flash of fang. “Fear is spicy,” he confides. “Is pleasure really pleasure without pain?”

“They’re two sides of the same coin,” Greg says automatically, and apparently X very much likes that answer because he kisses Greg’s hand again. Considering it’s through the fingerless black leather glove, it feels very intimate.

“Pleasure and pain aside,” he says, “can I ask again: who are you and what are you doing here?”

“Flowers are beautiful to look at.” X pats his cheek. “Nelli has impeccable taste. I just wanted to see for myself who she was adopting.”

“She’s not  _adopting_ me, I—”

X shakes his head, still smiling. “You’ve drunk from her, silly. One sip, two sips, it doesn’t matter. It turns out blood is thicker than water. Although water can be very thick if you’re under enough of it.”

“For fuck’s sake,” says Greg. “How many times do I have to ask you who you are before you answer me?”

“You’re very warm,” X says, pulling Greg’s palm to his chest. “Is it the sunlight? Do you photosynthesize when you’re out there?”

“It’s because I’m  _alive._ ”

X snarls. “You have to rub it in, don’t you?” He yanks Greg to him until they’re nose to nose and inhales deeply. “As though I can’t smell your vitae. As though I can’t feel your heartbeat.” His thumb rubs over Greg’s wrist, presses against his pulse point. “It’s strong. Nelli would never choose a delicate blossom. Only the hardiest of blooms, able to weather the frost.”

His lips touch Greg’s briefly and they’re  _cold._  

“You’re freezing.”

“I just woke up.” X flashes his fangs again. “I haven’t eaten yet.”

“Oh. Ah...” Greg turns the hand that X’s holding palm up, pulling his sleeve back. “Did you want...”

X gives him a coy smile. “Such a generous offer to a stranger!”

“If you know Nelli and you’re not dead, you can’t be too bad.” Greg lifts his hand toward X’s mouth. “Go on.”

X’s lips are still cold, though his breath is warm. He scrapes Greg’s skin very lightly with his teeth, which sends arousal shooting straight to Greg’s cock, and then lets go. “I wouldn’t want to impose. And I don’t think your domitor would approve.” He pulls something out of a deep pocket in the shapeless blue tunic. “I have my own.”

It’s a blood bag. X casually starts drinking from it, downing the deep red liquid in a series of hungry gulps. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth when he’s done, grinning at Greg. He pats Greg’s cheek again and his fingers do feel warmer. “Better?”

Greg shrugs, although it’s hard to force nonchalance when he just watched the guy suck down a bag of blood like a Capri Sun. “Whatever. It’s your problem, not mine, bloodsucker.”

The grin doesn’t fade. “That’s not all I can suck, juice box.”

Greg groans. “Look, it’s been a long day. Night. Time. I was  _going_ to go to bed.”

X gives him that coy smile again. “Are you inviting me to stay?”

“I didn’t invite you in in the first place.” Greg brushes past him, heading for the bedroom. “I don’t even know your name. Does that invitation bullshit even matter?”

X follows him. “Obviously not, since I’m here. And I’m X. Just the letter. It’s not my name, but it’s what people call me. What about you? Do you prefer Greg? Gregory? Daffodil? Sweet Narcissus, the most beautiful of all men?”

“Yeah, let’s go with the last one,” Greg says sarcastically.

The bedroom smells somewhat of sage, more of ylang-ylang and—Greg sniffs—basil? Something sharply spicy, anyway. Smoke curls up from a mostly burned incense stick. There are no candles burning, only a low light from the desk lamp, which X has covered with a fine black scarf. 

“You obviously already invited yourself in. I don’t know why you bothered to ask.” Greg plops down into the desk chair to remove his shoes and X goes to one knee before him.

“Sweet Narcissus,” he says. “Most beautiful of all men. Allow me to assist you.”

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ.” But Greg puts his foot up on X’s knee and lets X unlace his shoes one by one. X does it reverently, sliding each shoe and sock off and setting them carefully aside before beginning a firm foot rub that makes Greg’s toes curl.

Greg presses his other foot against X’s thigh, slides it up to curiously nudge his toes against the front of X’s pants, and recoils at the lack of warmth there.

“What the fuck, X? I didn’t know you leeches had icicles for dicks.”

X looks up at him through lowered eyelashes. “The dead are cold, sweet Narcissus, most beautiful of all men.” He licks his lips. “But we can be warmed.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

“I came here to meet you where others might not see.”

“I’m not stupid enough to believe any safe house is really safe. I’m  _sure_ there are people who know where I am.  _You_ found me.”

“The rarer the flower, the easier its perfume to track,” X agrees. His hands are much warmer on Greg’s foot than they were when first they came out of the darkness. “But it’s my job to know things.”

Greg yanks both feet back, standing up and glaring down at X, who cringes. “Are you a spy? Are you reporting back to anyone? Nelli warned me some people try to play both sides.”

“No! No shes send me anywhere, not your domitor, not the two-faced Baron by the ocean. I don’t dance for her any more.” X cowers down even more. “Please, sweet Narcissus—”

Greg doesn’t realize he’s going to slap him until he does it. Not full force, but X’s head still snaps back as though he had and his cheek turns pink. He looks shocked, blinking up at Greg, those otherworldly silver eyes gleaming.

“I—” Greg bites his tongue, giving X room to freak out before he decides if he needs to apologize or not.

X doesn’t. He does touch his cheek with trembling fingers, and then lowers his gaze. “I came to meet you where others might not see,” he repeats. “And I came in hope.” He presses his forehead to Greg’s thigh. “My sire was a flower who spread many seeds. But I have been—that garden is no longer safe. Thorns in the flowers, snakes in the grass.” He looks pleadingly up at Greg. “Sweet Narcissus. Most beautiful of all men. I ask only for a brief respite in your garden, before the reaper finds me.”

Greg touches X’s wild black curls, fingers pressing deep into his hair to rub his scalp. X nudges his head against Greg’s hand to further the contact. “You’re a fucking weirdo and I don’t know why I’m not just kicking you out.” He unbuttons and unzips his pants, pushing them and his underwear down and stepping out of them before sitting back down in his desk chair. “Sure, you can spend the night or whatever. But you have to earn it.”

X says nothing but pulls Greg’s foot back onto his knee, resuming the foot rub where he’d left off, head bowed studiously. It feels great after a long day on the move.

Then X lifts his foot higher, nuzzles his instep—it tickles—and bites him there, fangs pressing into his skin. They don’t quite break it, but Greg’s imagination is good.

“Ah, fuck!” he says, and X kisses the spot apologetically.

“Where vitae is near the surface, resistance is difficult.”

Greg just thinks about the small but prominent veins in his cock and how dark and engorged the head gets... the thought of those fangs in that area should be a lot more alarming than it is.

X switches to Greg’s other foot, pressing his thumbs firmly into the arch to avoid tickling from too light a touch, and Greg groans softly.

“Good... that’s good.”

Greg notes X’s eager smile at the praise. He may not answer to the baron of Santa Monica any more, but there’s still something in him that likes the reassurance. He keeps massaging, and Greg hears him murmuring, “no biting, no biting” over and over like a mantra.

Of course, he does bite again, nipping Greg’s instep roughly before sliding his tongue over the tiny points of pain.

“Good start, sucker,” Greg says, omitting any specifics regarding the location or bodily fluids involved in said sucking.

“From the root to the crown,” X says, “and every branch in between.” His eyes fixate on Greg’s cock for a long moment, and Greg doesn’t think his lip lick is a tease or even conscious.

Although it definitely feels like a tease when X goes back to his feet instead of just diving right in.

X works his way up Greg’s legs with his hands, massaging his right calf then his left, dotting kisses and licks and small nips in the wake of his fingers. 

The first really hard bite is just above Greg’s right knee, a sucking, fang-scraping, hungry bite that sends that shot of pleasurable pain straight up Greg’s thigh to his cock. He groans at the feeling and X leisurely nips his way higher, alternating sides as he moves closer in between Greg’s spread thighs. Greg leans back in the chair, letting him do it, mind skirting around the fact that this is a dead man he’s allowing to touch him so intimately.

X digs his fangs in again at that point; apparently Greg isn’t paying close enough attention. He’s halfway up Greg’s thigh and it’s a much harder bite.

“Ow, fuck,” Greg says, pinching X’s cheek hard and holding the fold of flesh for a moment. “Maybe I shouldn’t let you anywhere near my dick if you’re going to get this rough.”

“A fool is the gardener who harms their most valued blooms,” X says, licking the crown of Greg’s cock with one quick tongue-dart. Thankfully his tongue isn’t so cold like whatever’s going on in his pants.

Greg shifts his hand from X’s cheek to the back of his neck. “Keep going.”

X finishes nuzzling his way up Greg’s thighs first, like he’s determined to touch every bit of Greg’s skin with his lips and tongue. He rushes through the last part, though, and within moments he’s taking Greg in, careful to cover his fangs with his lips.

“No, let me see,” Greg says, pulling back and putting a thumb against X’s lips. X snaps at him and growls and Greg lifts his hand, threatening another slap. X subsides, eyes wary but bright, and opens his mouth wide to allow Greg to slip his cockhead in between those sharp points, feeling them press either side of his shaft as he pushes in deeper. X growls again, muffled, and Greg squeezes the scruff of his neck. “Behave.”

X holds still and lets Greg impale his mouth, small whimpers and moans affirming his pleasure in the sensation. The surge of power that Greg feels, both as top to bottom and as a lowly ghoul nonetheless bringing one of the Kindred to his knees, has him jerking his hips in short quick thrusts even before X’s hungry sucks and licks have taken him in all the way.

Sometimes he just  _needs,_ and this is one of those times.

Greg is quick to come; it’s been a long day and he’s always particularly helpless in the face of such concentrated desire. X opens his mouth when Greg first tenses up and Greg consequently gets the peculiar pleasure of seeing himself spurt between X’s fangs. X drinks him down messily with a lot of gratuitous licking.

“You...” Greg has no words. He strokes X’s cheek as X lets Greg’s cock slip from his mouth; X leans against Greg’s thigh and sighs with soft pleasure at the attention.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” he says, kissing Greg’s thigh.

“Fuck.” Greg slumps back in the chair. “Fuck, X, you’re killing me.”

“Not me.” X bites Greg’s thigh, fangs pressing in hard, and Greg moans. “I would never.” He looks up, peeking through his eyelashes. “Unless you asked.”

Greg laughs. “What, and go crazy like you? I know these things run in the blood. In the  _vitae._ ” He rubs X’s lips with his thumb, pushing it into X’s mouth to press the soft pad against the point of one fang. “Is it only blood that gives you energy, or will any bodily fluid do?”

X closes his teeth around Greg’s thumb and growls, eyes sparkling.

“Do you still come?” Greg asks. “ _Can_ you?”

X licks the tip of Greg’s thumb and lets it slide from between his lips. “Drinking of life may loosen the chill shackles of death long enough to permit that particular bodily pleasure,” he says, cheeks going pink by way of affirmation.

Greg nods, starting to unbutton his shirt. “And if I—”

“May I?” X interrupts, putting his hands over Greg’s. “Would you bless me with the pleasure of uncovering the warmth of your body, sweet Narcissus?”

Greg lets him do it, and X’s kissing his exposed chest when he tries asking again. “What happens if I swallow something  _other_ than your blood, X?”

“The white vitae?” X bites his nipple and Greg cries out in surprise at the sharp pain. “That I don’t know.” He licks the bite as though he’s licking a wound closed, and Greg’s heart quickens in response. “There have been kisses and Kisses, but not  _that_ kiss.”

“I heard your Baron J—”

X yanks Greg’s shirt open and the rest of the buttons scatter to the floor. “Not  _my_ she,” he snarls, lifting Greg clean out of the chair. “I have  _no_ shes.”

Greg just rolls his eyes and says, “Okay, fuck, no shes, no women, I fucking get it.”

X shakes him and then lets go of his collar. “Belle’s all right,” he concedes. “My music is usually deeper, but Belle is harmonic.”

“And Nelli?” Greg can’t help asking.

X’s brow furrows but there’s no further anger as he removes Greg’s shirt and tie, setting them neatly on the desk. “Nelli, Nelli,  _coi blu capelli._.. her garden grows with silver bells, sweet Narcissus, but their tune can be discordant.” He puts his hands on Greg’s bare shoulders, his breath undeniably warm. “Be careful where you take root.”

Greg smirks at that but it’s more important to claim a kiss than to press the innuendo.

His tongue touches X’s, tasting his own seed, and then he feels the press of fangs against his lips as X deepens the kiss. Greg starts undressing him, or at least gets his hands under X’s loose tunic. He tries to sneak one hand straight into X’s pants but stops with it still on X’s belly; he’ll get there soon enough. He rubs X’s belly instead.

“Fed enough?” 

X nips the side of his neck. “For now, though I would never turn down seconds.”

Greg tilts his head further to the side, and the lightest of touches to the back of X’s head encourages a reckless rough bite that hurts like hell and is going to be visible for  _days._

“X—”

“Sweet Narcissus,” X says. “Most beautiful of all men.”

He says it so sincerely that it hurts, and Greg is still just gazing at him when X unsubtly tumbles him onto the bed, standing and looking down at his bare, sprawled body. He pulls the tunic off, white skin radiant in the moonlight that pours through the semi-open blinds, and Greg notices he’s wearing a pale crystal pendant. 

“What stone is that?”

X touches it briefly. “Truth.”

“Okay, sure. Are you ever going to take your pants off?”

“Is that a request, gracious host?”

Greg sits up and scoots to the edge of the bed. “Take your fucking pants off, X. If I’m giving you sanctuary here, I want to see all of you.”

X fumbles the simple bow keeping the drawstring closed and Greg pushes his hands away, tugging the cord loose and shimmying the loose fabric down X’s legs with ease.

At this point in the proceedings Greg would honestly expect his partner to be more aroused, but X isn’t; he’s not soft either, but he’s sure not as hard as Greg was by the time X got his pants off.

“Death is so cold,” X whispers.

“That can be fixed.”

Touching his lips to X’s cock, Greg can feel the lingering coolness on his skin. X’s hands come to rest on his shoulders as he licks X with lazy warm wet strokes of his tongue. When he looks up X’s eyes are closed, lips parted, fangs visible.

“X.” Greg lifts his left arm, extending his wrist toward X’s mouth. “Drink. It’ll help.”

“I drank already.”

“There must be some difference in the potency of the vitae.”

X hums agreement and entwines his fingers with Greg’s, mouth touching down on X’s inner wrist. He starts administering the softest of nibbles and Greg lets the sensation shiver through him for a moment.

Then he’s focusing on taking X soft into his mouth and working him to full arousal. Not that it’s exactly difficult to get the reaction, but fuck, it feels good to have his strange new partner grow and swell in his mouth, soft flesh hardening between his lips and against his tongue until X’s cock is in a more familiar state of being solidly erect.

The whole time he’s doing it, X keeps nipping and nibbling at Greg’s wrist, occasionally digging a fang deep to make Greg whimper. The sensation of being fed upon is intoxicating, arousing, and when X’s knees buckle and he has to lie down, Greg pulls the vampire in to press their now equally hot bodies together.

He sneaks a look at his wrist in the process; it’s bruised to hell.

Good.

“Oh, Narcissus,” X says unsteadily, hips jerking, rutting without shame against Greg’s thigh. “Most beautiful—oh—”

Greg reaches down and wraps his fingers around X’s cock, not for release but for containment. “Fuck, X, go easy. You want to waste your first orgasm in forever on my leg that’s up to you, but wouldn’t you rather consider your other options?”

X gives him an uncertain look with a lip bite that would be coy if not for the flash of fang that gives off quite a different impression. “We don’t know what will happen if you consume the white vitae,” he says softly.

“I’ve already tasted your pre-come,” Greg says bluntly. “I don’t think it did much except contribute to  _this._ ” He pushes his hips forward to press the length of his cock against X’s belly. “What about you? You drank mine.”

X just thrusts into his hand by way of response.

“Right, right.” Greg lets him go entirely and shifts back, putting a few inches of air between them. “What about before you were bitten? What were you into when you were still alive?”

X rolls onto his stomach, spreads his thighs, and gives Greg an imploring look. “The garden in which the seed is sown,” he murmurs. “The hole that takes the plant’s deep root. To feel you flower hot inside me, sweet Narcissus, would be better than any kiss.”

“Are you cold inside, like everywhere else?”

He gets another not-quite-coy smile, and his wandering hands find that no, X is not cold there at all. It seems that once his circulation gets going, it brings him to life everywhere. He sounds and feels very much alive as Greg fingers him, so much so that before long Greg rolls on top of him, rutting along X’s slick cleft until X’s whimpering under him, legs spread, ass raised.

“Please, sweet Narcissus, make me feel alive,” X whispers, and Greg plunges into him.

“You feel pretty fucking alive to me, X,” Greg says as he finds the right angle to make X moan and squirm under him. He pins X’s wrists with his hands. “I don’t  _feel_ like I’m fucking a dead man.”

“ _Un_ dead.” X turns one wrist to dislodge Greg’s hand—slowly, giving Greg time to let go before it hurts—and pulls Greg’s hand to his mouth. It’s the other wrist that he bites this time, making needy little sounds like he’s barely resisting draining Greg.

Greg retaliates—reciprocates?—by nosing aside the unkempt black curls and biting the side of X’s neck. He can feel the very alive pulse pounding just under the skin and knows that if he were full Kindred instead of just Nelli’s ghoul, it would take a good deal of restraint not to sink his fangs in and drink deeply. As it is the inhuman groan that X lets out spurs him to bite harder and fuck harder, well beyond the point of caring about niceties like whether or not this constitutes necrophilia.

“Narcissus,” X moans, and Greg pulls out, urging X up to his knees and elbows before pushing back in, raking his nails along the pale stretch of skin before him. He does it over and over until the letter X stands out in vivid red, X shuddering under him all the while.

“Can we form a bond by doing this, or does it need to be blood?” he asks.

“The blood bond requires drinking of the Kindred’s vitae, so...” X leaves Greg to draw his own conclusions.

“Can I—can someone be bonded to more than one Kindred?”

X whimpers. “Narcissus,  _please._ ”

Greg slips a hand under X’s body, stroking down his chest with ungentle pinches to each nipple before taking X’s cock in hand and jerking him quick and hard. He tries to match his thrusts to the movements but X becomes such a quivering mess that it’s difficult to find a rhythm.

“Sweet—sweet—”

X doesn’t get any further than that before coming into Greg’s fist, which Greg slides up X’s shaft to catch as much in his palm as he can, bringing it to his mouth and licking it off, pointedly making the wettest noises he can.

“Tastes better than blood,” he murmurs before putting his now sticky hand back on X’s hip and picking up where he left off in pursuing his own climax. X’s really playing up the wriggly and oversensitive reaction, until Greg growls and bites his neck again, sucking a mark into the skin on the other side.

“ _Feels_ like a bond,” X says, looking back over his shoulder at Greg. His curly dark hair is hanging in his eyes, which still look uncanny.

“Oh. Fuck. Yeah.”

Then it’s just the sounds of flesh on flesh, slick heat, gasping and moaning, alive alive  _alive,_ feeling like neither of them have ever been otherwise, until Greg comes for the second time that night, panting against the trembling curve of X’s shoulder as wandering endearments ramble off X’s tongue, from the predictable  _sweet Narcissus, most beautiful of all men_ to  _then my heart with pleasure fills, and dances with the daffodils._

Greg moves to lie beside X, one arm curling over his waist.

“Have I earned a place in your garden tonight, Narcissus?” X murmurs.

“Of course you fucking have, don’t be ridiculous.” Greg smacks his ass lightly. “I can’t promise perfect protection, but I don’t think anyone’s going to come looking for you here.” He rubs the spot that he smacked and X wriggles, pleased. “On one condition.”

“Yes?”

“Does the effect of the blood wear off after a while? Are you going to go all cold again? In my bed?”

X turns his head to give him a sleepy smile. “Nothing but warmth in your bed, sweet Narcissus, most beautiful of all men. Your vitae is potent... it will sustain the illusion of life for hours yet.”

“Yeah, okay, sure. Do you snore?”

“I don’t breathe.”

“I’m not sure that’s better than snoring.” Greg pats X’s ass. “Come on, up. You’ve got, ah, white vitae to clean off yourself.”

X snickers but gets up and goes to the bathroom to clean up; Greg takes a turn after him before returning to the bedroom. He doesn’t know what to expect when he looks in the mirror but, aside from the fact that he’ll need to wear a scarf for like a month, he doesn’t look any different.

“Just so we’re perfectly clear, you  _are_ invited into my bed for tonight.”

“Only tonight?”

“We’ll see.”

“I promise not to be a weed,” X says solemnly, sliding under the covers.

“I think the Inquisition’s wrong about one thing,” Greg says when they’re snuggled together, which honestly by now doesn’t feel weird at all.

X jerks and snarls at the name, but asks, “Only one?”

“Well... maybe more. But they’re wrong about the term  _blank bodies._ ” His hand traces over X’s thigh, hip, side, shoulder, before coming to rest with the fingers lightly pressed against X’s throat. “Even cold, you’re anything but blank, X.”

“Thank you, Gregory,” X says.

“You know what?”

“Mmmm?”

“You can stick with Narcissus,” Greg says, pulling X into a goodnight kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> * * *
> 
> (I am _especially_ and _specifically_ not sorry about 'white vitae'.)


End file.
